


How It Started, How It's Going

by m_l_h



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Love/Hate, M/M, Minor Injuries, Post-Endgame, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sharing a Bed, Violence, slightly rough sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:47:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29703561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m_l_h/pseuds/m_l_h
Summary: Sam and Bucky are starting out a new life post-Endgame, finding their way working and living with each other.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 116





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started life a few months ago as a 100 word drabble. 
> 
> I may have gotten a little carried away.
> 
> I've categorised this as explicit but that's really only for a small part in Chapter 3. The rest is relatively tame.

Sam pulled his ripped and blood stained t-shirt over his head and flung it onto the single bed nearest the window that Bucky claimed on their arrival four days ago. The cuts beneath weren’t deep – well maybe that one on the back of his shoulder could use some attention – so Bucky paid little heed, instead rolling his eyes and complaining: “Could you put your shit somewhere else?”

His request was ignored; Sam went into the tiny, dingy bathroom and flicked on the light – the naked bulb was covered in dust and probably about to blow, but it was just enough to illuminate the dilapidated hotel room in the town centre. Neon lights from street signs below added a touch of colour to the otherwise dismal environment.

Water pipes groaned as Sam turned the taps – cold and cold – on, a brief pause before any liquid emerged. There was a quiet hiss from Sam as he started cleaning his wounds. Bucky retrieved the debris cast onto his bed and was about to toss it onto Sam’s bunk when he noticed the large stain on the shoulder. It had been a cheap shot from an otherwise unskilled opponent – Bucky knew Sam would be pissed about it – but Sam had gotten his revenge: neither was sure, nor cared, about whether or not their attacker had gotten up again afterwards.

“You want me to look at it?”

“No.”

Bucky dumped the shirt in the small bin by the door before taking a seat on the too-thin-to-be-comfortable mattress. He began removing what some might consider a small arsenal – two handguns, multiple knives and an interesting weapon Shuri gave him what seemed like a life time ago, that he hadn’t yet had a chance to test – and stored them in the bag underneath his bed. He’d learned over the years to sleep with one eye open, but the blade next to his pillow was a useful backup. Boots made a heavy thud against the old floorboards as he toed them off.

When Sam finally emerged from the bathroom and switched the light off, the semi-darkness wasn’t enough to hide his anger and frustration. Bucky had finished changing into clean clothes and while he waited for Sam to say something, he didn’t expect it.

Grabbing a bottle of beer from the lukewarm fridge, Sam took a seat on the only chair in the room, by the window. The wood creaked as he eased himself into it; they had taken turns during the last few days keeping watch over their intended target from this position.

“Fucking disaster,” was all he uttered before taking a long swig; yellow and pink and green flashes were reflected in eyes that refused to meet Bucky’s. Sam watched the crowds of people outside, some gathered in groups drinking and dealing who-knows-what; couples holding hands, tourists who had to be lost to end up in this neighbourhood. Even in the light of day there was a sense that nothing good happened here; night-time just confirmed it.

Draining the remnants of the liquid, Sam leaned forward to set the bottle on the floor (next to several that had accumulated since their arrival) and Bucky caught a glimpse of blood on the back of the chair.

“You should let me take a look at that.”

“It’s fine,” Sam said, sitting upright, “I might not be a supersoldier but I don’t need to be treated like a kid.” His voice was low, contempt as much for his own situation as for Bucky’s. “I should’ve known - hell I’ve been doing this shit long enough to know better.”

“ _You’ve_ been doing this long enough to know better?” There was no malice in what Bucky said and his comment finally earned him a reaction, a brief smile before the mask reappeared. It was enough for Bucky to know Sam would be ok.

They sat in silence for minutes – neither sure how many – before Sam finally opened up.

“This was easier when he was still here, calling the shots, making the plans.”

Bucky’s chest tightened, for he felt the same loss. It had only been a few months ago and they were still adapting, adjusting to this new way of living. Some aspects of life on the run and keeping secrets weren’t so unfamiliar to him though.

“You always knew he had a backup, you know? There was always something he could pull out of the bag and make it all work. It might have been crazy, but damn, you knew it was going to work.”

Bucky nodded in agreement. He understood what Sam was going through, though he was never sure the feeling was mutual. That wasn’t Sam’s fault though: there was a lot about their lives that Sam didn’t know, things that were never on display in a museum, that couldn’t be. 

“He wouldn’t have fucked this up.”

“It was dodgy intel, Sam.”

“Which he would have known.” Sam sighed, resigned to wallowing in his own self pity for now. He returned to gazing out the window; the noise from below - music blaring from an ancient stereo, people shouting and swearing in multiple languages - easily penetrated the single-glazed windows. Even at 3am it was a hive of activity, mostly illegal. 

Bucky took the opportunity of collecting them both a beer from the fridge to take a surreptitious look at Sam’s injury. Setting his own drink on the floor beside his bed, Bucky dug out a bandage from the bottom of his backpack. He kept such things for emergencies, and more for others than himself. 

Sam, either too deep in thought or too tired to care, ignored Bucky and continued to stare out the window as his wound was recleaned with a damp cloth before carefully applying the bandage. It would need replacing soon and Bucky made a mental note to source some more later that day. 

“We’ll start again in the morning,” Bucky said as he settled into bed, pulling the itchy, wafer thin blanket over himself. Sam’s only response was to start on his second beer. 

“Get some sleep, you need it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


“We asked nicely, didn’t we?”

“We did.”

“And we told him what would happen.”

“We did.”

“So,” Sam stepped forward, getting as close to their victim as possible, “I’ll ask again - where is he?”

The man - a hulking creature well over six feet tall and probably his boss’ most intimidating muscle - squirmed, gasping for air as Bucky held him inches above ground by the neck, one hand wrapped firmly around his throat. Wrestling for precious oxygen, it looked as if the man would rather go to the grave than give up the location of his employer. Sam’s patience was wearing thin when Bucky leaned close to the man’s ear, speaking what Sam assumed was some threat or other in their victim’s own language. He glared at Bucky, before falling silent, relenting. Bucky dropped him on the floor and the man’s legs gave way. Between coughs and splutters he revealed the information they were looking for.

  
  


Sam waited until they were a safe distance away from the warehouse, sure they weren’t being followed, before asking Bucky what he had said.

“Nothing much, just reminded him about the value of family.”

“Right,” Sam replied, his interest piqued. “So what was that?”

“Excuse me?”

“What was that - Russian?”

“Hungarian.”

“Ooh,” Sam crooned, “fancy. Did they teach you that at assassin school?”

Bucky faltered in his step momentarily before carrying on, choosing not to respond.

“What? Bucky? Come on, man, don’t be like that.” Sam muttered “fine” when he realised he wasn’t going to get anything out of Bucky and they walked in silence to their next destination. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Do you have a death wish?” 

“Buck, I had it under control.”

“Of course you did.”

Cold seeped through wet clothes to their skin, muscles and bones from every direction. The concrete step they were sitting on to catch their breath was sucking the last drops of heat from their tired bodies as rain pelted down on them in the darkness. Sam flexed his leg - he had taken a hard knock to it during the fight. Even Bucky would concede to feeling aches and pains, though doubtless they would be gone by tomorrow. Putting his head in his hands, he tried to think through what had gone wrong - yes, they had achieved their aim, they got their man, but it was too close for comfort and far from what they had prepared for.

The rain fell heavily, rapidly creating puddles in the alleyway and an increasingly thunderous sound as drops bashed against roofs and windows. The tinny noise of water striking his metal arm, almost drowned out by the deluge of water, was like background noise to Bucky now. He almost couldn’t remember a time when that wasn’t normal.

Sam shivered next to him and the movement against Bucky brought him from his thoughts. “We need to get moving,” he said, standing and offering his hand to pull Sam up. 

The streets were deserted as they headed further away from the scene of the crime, a hint of discomfort in Sam’s step. In the distance sirens were audible - gunshots will do that. Their mission was complete and they needed to get as far away as possible, out of the country. They had a plan for that, so headed for the train station on the outskirts of the city. 

It was almost sunrise by the time they were climbing into an empty carriage at the far end of the station. The train was due to leave in a few hours’ time and head north; they would stow away until they had reached the first station across the border where they would disembark and disappear.

“How’s the leg?”

Bucky quietly closed the carriage door before sitting on its floor, opposite Sam. 

“You don’t trust me.”

Bucky had to imagine the details of the hardened expression on Sam’s face, for there was little light.

“What?”

“You don’t think I had that situation under control. You think…”

“You don’t know what I think, Sam, but keep your voice down.”

“Oh right, there’s something else I’m not good at,” he replied in a harsh stage whisper.

“Sam, do we have to do this now?” Bucky could feel the tension growing, a headache forming.

“Why not? We’ve nothing else to do. Let’s kill time.” Bucky heard Sam shift on the floor. “You don’t trust me to come up with a plan that will work. You think it was stupid and that I’m going to get us killed.”

“Probably.” It was out of Bucky before he realised.

“Well,” Sam laughed ironically, “at least you’re honest.” He paused a moment, long enough to let Bucky know he gave at least a microgram of thought about his next statement: “We’re not all trained to be supersoldiers, you know? Some of us are only human.”

Many years ago, on a mission in Ukraine Bucky had been ambushed by a group of anti-government militia. There were only half a dozen or so but they had caught him off guard. After several blows to the head and a kick to the chest that left him briefly winded he had felt the sharp blade thrust into his back, deep, through layers of his body. It had been agony; had left him momentarily stunned, before he sought his revenge. 

“If I don’t trust you Sam, why am I here?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The steady rock of the train slowed its pace and stirred Bucky from his slumber. Sunlight peeked through the cracks in the old carriage and he rolled onto his back, stretching to test his limbs for any lasting damage. Thankfully he was fine, even his headache had subsided.

“Hey,” came Sam’s voice. 

“Hey,” Bucky replied as he sat up, “what time is it?”

“After midday. We’re almost there, probably another ten minutes.”

Bucky nodded and when he turned to look at Sam was surprised at how rough his partner’s appearance was. 

“Did you sleep?”

Sam shook his head, staring at his hands and resolutely not at Bucky.

“When we reach the town we’ll find that guest house and lay low for a bit.” 

It was Sam’s turn to nod in response. 

Gathering their limited belongings they waited until the train slowed enough before jumping onto the tracks and making a hasty getaway. It wasn’t long before they reached the rustic, rural town’s boundary. Due to the expanse of green fields surrounding it, the town’s main business was selling crops, which trains stopped at the station to collect and transport on. It was quiet, remote and well-removed from the distractions of modern 21st century life. They skirted around its edge, avoiding contact with anyone until they arrived at the small guest house they had earmarked. 

The woman who greeted them welcomed them, literally, with open arms and a solid grasp of the English language, which surprised Sam as they were really out in the sticks. She was easily a foot shorter than both of them, middle-aged with a full head of greying hair and round figure. Most of her guests, she told Sam and Bucky as she showed them upstairs to their room, were traders, merchants trying to buy and sell goods. The rest of her business went to students and backpackers who were ‘finding themselves’, as she called it. 

“So which is it for you gentlemen, business or pleasure?”

Sam raised an eyebrow at Bucky, who replied, “A little of both.”

She smiled at Bucky’s use of her native language. “Well, if you need anything,” she replied in kind, “just let me know.” She waved goodbye as she closed the door behind her. The corner room she had given them was a stark contrast to what they had left behind. From where he stood Bucky could see fields of varying shades of green and yellow for miles, crawling across the landscape to distant mountains. What passed for a road, but looked more like a 19th century track, left the town and snaked into the distance in the same direction. Where they had almost been living in each other’s pockets for the past few weeks, this room gave them a bit more space to breathe. Sitting heavily on the bed closest to the door, Bucky quickly established that he would have a much better night’s sleep here. To add to the substantial mattress they had copious amounts of pillows and blankets, carpet on the floor and thick curtains - possibly not surprising, as the temperatures in winter here dropped well below freezing. 

“I’m calling first dibs on the shower,” Sam called over his shoulder, unceremoniously emptying his backpack onto his bed. 

“Of course you are,” Bucky replied, “Just know that if you use all the hot water I will have to kill you.”

Sam reappeared over half an hour later, towel tied around his waist, steam following him out of the bathroom. 

“What the hell took you so long?”

“Can’t rush perfection,” Sam replied, looking for a fresh shirt in the pile on his bed. “Anyway, what were you doing? If I took so long, you could’ve at least gotten us something to eat.”

“I hate you,” Bucky replied, shaking his head. Fetching a chair from the desk at the far side of the room he positioned it between their beds and instructed Sam to sit. 

“What?”

“Your bandage needs changed.”

“Oh,” Sam’s protest was left hanging as he did as he was told. 

With the same skill as before Bucky carefully peeled the bandage away, examining the wound; “Doesn’t look like there’s any infection,” he informed Sam as he applied a new dressing. “Don’t do anything stupid and you might just survive.”

Heading to the bathroom for his turn to wash up Bucky said, “Now that you’re presentable, you can get us something to eat.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gunshots. Shocked faces. Fear. Pain. Regret. Heartbeat loud in his ears. Metal crunching, tyres screeching. Pleading, begging. Fist crushing bone, fingers squeezing life out of…

Bucky woke with a start, sweat covering his body, breathing heavily. Hands on his arm, someone calling his name. The room was dark and it took some time for his brain to reorientate, for the face close to his to resolve itself.

“Buck? You ok?”

A hand moved to the back of his head and he felt a little more grounded. He tried to control his breathing, to calm himself. 

“Buck?”

“Yeah,” he replied, the familiarity in Sam’s tone comforting. 

“You were,” Sam began, unsure whether Bucky wanted to hear it or not, “You were talking in your sleep.”

It’s not the first time he’s dreamt of his past; of the times when he had no control over his actions; when he didn’t even know that he had lost control of himself. It had been a while though and it unsettled him. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“Hey, no problem, just…” Sam wasn’t sure what to say or do. “It’s just a dream.”

Bucky sighed heavily. “Except it wasn’t.”

Airing on the side of caution, they took breakfast in their room the next morning. It was unlikely that they had been followed, but they didn’t want to take the risk. They ate in silence, Sam sneaking glances at Bucky when he thought the older man wasn’t paying attention. They had been on the road together for months and this was the first time Bucky had had nightmares, terrors, and waking to that had shaken Sam. Bucky was tough, one of the toughest people Sam knew, but clearly there was a lot more to him. Sam, for whatever reason, hadn’t thought too much about the details of Bucky’s past, though he knew it generally wasn’t good. 

“How’s your leg?”

Sam found Bucky staring at him, his plate empty and cutlery set on top. 

“Bit bruised, but I’ll live.”

“Good, you can take these plates back down to Marguerite then,” Bucky smiled, setting his plate on top of Sam’s. 

“Alright, but if I’m not back in five minutes,” Sam said before being interrupted.

“I’ll wait another five.”

  
  
  


“Here,” Sam said, throwing the book into Bucky’s lap, “your girlfriend Marguerite had a bookcase down there, thought you could use something to pass the time.”

Bucky turned the book over in his hands; it appeared to be a murder mystery, written in Spanish. A picture of an old mansion dominated the dark blue front cover, the title written in silver. 

“What did you get?” he replied, seeing another book in Sam’s hand, “One of those dirty romance novels?”

“Don’t knock it until you try it,” Sam said as he flopped onto his bed, arranging the pillows against his back for comfort. “Oh and I think we should probably get out and take a look around town.”

“Why?” Bucky replied, concern in his voice. “Do you think someone’s found us?”

“No, but two grown men holed up in a hotel room together for days looks a little bit suspicious, don’t you think?” Sam winked at him before opening his book, the characteristic cheeky Sam Wilson grin on his face. Bucky rolled his eyes.

  
  
  


“Ok, you might be right,” Bucky declared as he closed the door behind him. 

“Well hallelujah, he’s come to his senses!” Sam replied from his bed, where he had paused flicking through the four available TV channels, none of which he understood. “I’m flattered and all, but could you be a little more specific?”

“Marguerite just gave me a recommendation for a restaurant nearby.”

“And?”

“She said it was romantic.”

“Told you so,” Sam said, once his laughter subsided. 

  
  
  


The evening was surprisingly mild as they wandered through the streets, following the directions Marguerite had enthusiastically given them. Bucky had refused to translate her parting comment, much to Sam’s annoyance. It was a ten minute walk at most through narrow streets and they kept their appearance casual, wits sharp. 

The restaurant wasn’t what either of them would have described as romantic, but it did have a certain charm. It was hidden in one of the few parts of the town that appeared to have reluctantly embraced change and taken a cautious step into the 20th century at least. They took a table near the back, away from the view of the passers by outside, Bucky facing the door. Old-fashioned off-white tablecloths covered the wooden tables, almost twenty scattered around the room. Several local men, well into their sixties or seventies sat around tables at the opposite side of the room, swapping stories and telling tales. Photographs that appeared to be from town events hung from every wall, many in black and white. A large colour landscape photograph behind the cash register showed the distant mountains at their best in the height of summer, a cloudless blue sky above. 

“What can I get you?” their waitress enquired, her English spoken with a strong accent and lacking confidence. She smiled politely, but looked like she would probably prefer to be working in a restaurant in Paris or Madrid, not this unknown corner of the world. They both ordered steak and beer, despite Bucky trying to convince Sam to be brave and opt for the local delicacy (which sounded like a part of an animal neither of them wanted to consider consuming). 

“So,” Sam began, cold beer in hand, “what’s next?”

“Well,” Bucky leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table while sneaking a glance at the exit, “no doubt there’s someone out there you’ve pissed off who’ll be out to get you.”

“That’s alright, I’ve got my own personal Kevin Costner to watch my back.”

“What?”

“The Bodyguard? The movie? Wow, never mind.”

  
  
  


It wasn’t until they were walking back to the guest house that Sam finally asked the question that had been on his mind (Bucky could tell there was something - when Sam had an idea, it made him twitchy, unable to sit still). 

“So all that time you were with Hydra,” he began, not entirely sure how he was going to phrase his thoughts without sounding like an ass, “you didn’t do anything else? Apart from, you know…?”

Bucky, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, slowed his step. “No.” He had expected that if they kept up this partnership, eventually he would have to tell Sam about his past. Maybe not every horrific detail, but some of it. It wasn’t something he was proud of, but it also wasn’t something he could escape. In many ways, his years, decades working for Hydra had left their mark.

“It was a job, an endless series of missions,” he replied, stepping off the kerb to cross the street. Sam followed in silence. 

“You finished one, and they found a new target. If they didn’t have a mission for you, it gave them the opportunity to...” Bucky tailed off as he pushed the front door to the guest house open, warm air rushing out. 

“My boys are back,” Marguerite greeted them with a smile, “did you enjoy your dinner?”

“Yes ma’am,” Sam replied, a huge smile plastered across his face as he snuck an arm around Bucky’s waist in the most unsubtle way possible, “it was fantastic. We thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.” Bucky glared at him, much to Sam’s amusement. 

“Well you boys have a good evening - don’t forget, breakfast from 7am, just across the hall. You’re very welcome to come and join us.” She lowered her voice, continuing; “And don’t worry, you won’t get any bother here.” She winked at them and Sam thanked her again for her hospitality. 

“I really hate you,” Bucky said as they climbed the stairs. 

  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


Metal crunching, glass smashing. Footsteps on gravel. A name gasped, his name. Another mission, another body. Pleading, _no, please no_. Another life to take, another…

“Fuck,” he swore, sitting bolt upright in bed. He could still smell her perfume. 

“Bucky?” a voice called to him from across the room. Sam turned on the bedside lamp, illuminating the worry on his face. “Are you alright?”

He nodded, taking deep breaths. 

“You don’t look it.”

“I’ll be fine, Sam.”

To make his point he laid back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. 

“Scooch over,” Sam gave his arm a gentle shove, sitting on the side of Bucky’s bed without waiting. 

“What are you…?”

“Just move, dumbass.”

Bucky did so, careful to not fall out the other side of the bed. His heart rate was slowing, the ridiculousness of the situation taking his mind off his nightmares. Sam lay next to him, one arm behind his head. He waited until they had gotten as comfortable as they were going to.

“You know what I did before jumping on the superhero bandwagon?”

“You think you're a superhero now?” Bucky replied tiredly.

“I ran a support group for ex-service men and women.”

Bucky sighed, closing his eyes. “I bet you wish you were back there now, it’d be a lot easier than this superhero shit.”

“They had their problems, their traumas. They dealt with what they saw in a lot of different ways, some not at all.”

Bucky shifted on the mattress, his left arm unintentionally pressing against Sam; he was vaguely aware of a feeling of relief when Sam didn’t flinch from it, a reaction he was used to. 

“No one tells you about that part when you sign up as an enthusiastic, patriotic teenager. It’s all about fighting for freedom and honour. Finding a worthwhile purpose in life.”

“Sounds familiar.”

“Buck, if you need to talk, I’m here.”

Folding his arms across his chest, he replied, “I wouldn’t know where to start.”


	2. Chapter 2

The tallest building on the block gave a perfect vantage point, but it also brought with it a strong sea breeze. Heavy grey clouds loomed overhead, and where they met the ocean at the distant horizon, it looked like a storm was brewing. The streets below were deserted, gunfire and explosions clearing them rapidly a few short minutes before. 

“You ready?” came the confident voice in his ear.

“Always,” Bucky replied, adjusting the rifle resting on the concrete parapet. He focused to slow his breathing, having sprinted up the staircase to reach his post on time. 

Seconds later the familiar glint of red and silver came careening into view (a manoeuvre Sam would later claim as intentional) a few hundred metres up the road, two similar pilots in hot pursuit. Sam ducked and dived to avoid their shots, and as one of the enemy came close, almost within reach Sam spun to avoid his grasp. It caught his tail off guard, who crashed into the tenth floor of an office block. 

“Anytime you’re ready Buck, don’t let me stop you.”

They were less than two hundred metres away now. Bucky, his sight trained on their target, still wondered how Sam managed all those flying stunts without getting vertigo.

“Bucky?”

“You want me to make sure I get him, right?”

One hundred metres. 

“Yeah,” a brief pause for another spin, “but today would be nice!”

In the relatively narrow space between the tall buildings Sam performed the equivalent of a rollercoaster loop-the-loop to buy time. His pursuer wasn’t fooled and followed hot on his heels. 

“Bucky!”

Fifty metres.

“I swear, if you don’t,” Sam began, but had no need to finish his sentence; a single shot and he was free of his attacker. The victim hurtled to the ground, colliding with an abandoned taxi on the street below, bouncing off its roof onto the ground. Sam circled round to land on the roof as Bucky quickly disassembled the rifle. 

“You don’t need to look quite so smug,” Sam said as his wings folded themselves away. 

“What can I say,” Bucky replied as they made their way to the staircase, “it was a good shot.”

“Yeah, but did you see that three sixty I pulled?”

Bucky opened the emergency exit; “I hate to interrupt the modest assessment of your performance but we should probably make a move before the FBI shows up. I’m not getting locked in a cell with you again.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bar was almost empty, not unusual for a Tuesday evening. Two stereotypically dressed bikers with black leather jackets and questionable, grey facial hair were the only other customers in the venue. Wooden bar stools waited side by side for occupants, a forty-something bartender drying pint glasses behind the bar had little else to do. An old-fashioned jukebox sat against the back wall, playing random eighties classics as no one had bothered to select anything else. 

Sam and Bucky sat at a small round table, a half-drunk bottle of beer in front of each. Their plates and empty bottles had been cleared away long ago - prompt service could always be expected when you’re the only patrons. 

“What time do you want to leave tomorrow?”

“Early,” Bucky replied, a cursory glance around the room, a habit he couldn’t shake. “It’s a long drive.”

“It’s a shame we didn’t get those guys sooner,” Sam replied, picking at the label on his bottle, eyeing Bucky before continuing. “We could’ve made it for the service.”

Bucky breathed deep. “We can’t exactly show up and say ‘hi, remember us? We were there that day.’”

“Can’t believe it’s been a year,” Sam said cautiously, stacking the bits of paper on top of a cardboard coaster. 

Bucky shifted in his chair. 

Thanos.

That had been the name on everyone’s lips; the name that brought dread and fear to every man, woman and creature. For all the damage he had done, Thanos had brought them together, a group of individuals who were prepared to lay down their lives to protect their friends, their planet; however, his legacy of fear, of distrust lay close to the surface in many people’s hearts and minds, including those who were still out to stop Sam and Bucky. 

A month ago an envelope had been left at their motel, addressed to Mister James Barnes. Inside was a newspaper clipping detailing the memorial service which would take place in New York to commemorate the first anniversary of the battle, and those who were lost. When asked who had left it, the manager (between puffing on a cigarette and coughing his lungs up) simply said, “Dunno, some chick, think she was blonde.”

It wasn’t an invitation, as such; there were few left in New York who would openly welcome them, but a suggestion, which after some discussion they had agreed upon. 

“You still think we should go?” Sam asked; even now he was never a hundred percent sure what Bucky was thinking. 

Bucky, after a moment, nodded. “I think we should.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun had barely risen as they checked out of their motel and threw their bags into the trunk of the navy Ford they had purchased second hand. Sam had lifted the keys to drive, and Bucky didn’t argue. He would take his turn later on the four day trip. 

The humidity of the Arizona desert was a shock to the system when they stopped for lunch. Though the air conditioning in the car was beyond its prime, it had provided a false sense of security. The diner they had stopped at was the only dot on the landscape as far as the eye could see. Sam filled up with gas while Bucky got them a seat. Given that there was nothing else for miles, there appeared to be a decent clientele for the proprietors - mostly long distance truck drivers and young travellers traversing the country on a “trip of a lifetime”. 

“So what looks good?”

Sam said as he took a seat opposite Bucky, who handed him a laminated breakfast/brunch/lunch menu.

“If you’re looking for healthy, I’d stop looking now,” Bucky replied under his breath as a waitress approached. They both ordered coffee to start, along with waffles, Bucky adding an orange juice as well. He stared out the window at the car park; a pair of teenage girls stood leaning against the side of a silver car, chatting, one filling the tank with gas; a trucker checked the straps on his vehicle to make sure they were secure. He wiped his forehead, his face already red in the morning sun, his bare arms in a similar condition. Bucky flexed his gloved hand, shifting in his seat.

“So is sightseeing still a no?”

Bucky turned his attention back to Sam.

“I mean, there’s plenty within driving distance. We could hit up Vegas, paint the…”

“Do you think I would trust you in Vegas?”

“What could possibly go wrong?” Sam laughed, Bucky finally breaking into a smile. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


It was well after dark when they decided to stop for the night. The motel, with its flashing neon purple ‘Vacancy’ sign, seemed like a beige two-storey carbon copy of every other motel they had come across. They were tired - a full day’s drive after a two week long mission was not suitable recuperation by anyone’s standards - and would’ve slept pretty much anywhere. Bucky had fallen asleep twice in the last hour as Sam had kept his eyes peeled for somewhere to kip for the night. The young girl behind the reception desk - a skinny twenty-something with long blonde hair and too much makeup - tried her best to flirt with Sam as she handed him their room key. 

“Number twenty seven, up top. Check out is 10am. There’s vending machines next to the office here, an icebox on each floor. If you need anything else, you just let me know,” she finished, winking at Sam as he turned to leave the office. 

Bucky, leaning against the doorframe outside lifted their bags. “You’re in there,” he said, following Sam up the steps. 

“No surprise, but I think I’ll pass,” Sam said as he unlocked their room. 

They were at the far end of the block, their room basic but clean. Bucky dropped himself and his bag onto the first bed, grateful for something other than the car seat to rest on. He flicked the tv on for background noise - an old eighties cop show or a twenty four hour news channel appeared to be the lesser of many evils - as they got ready for bed. 

“Fuck me, that was a long day,” Sam said, stretched the full length of his bed, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension from driving. 

“You could have flown instead of driving, literally,” Bucky replied, fatigue setting in rapidly as he pulled his t-shirt over his head. 

Sam laughed, “And trust you to get there without getting spotted, or killing someone?” He received a sweaty t-shirt in the face for his comment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Bucky woke the next morning it was to the horrendous blaring of Sam’s alarm. He had no idea what the hell music it was, but it had no place in his life at 6.30am. Where a normal person, on being awoken by such an offending racket would jump out of bed and rush to make it stop, Sam simply stirred, stretched and then reached in the general direction of his phone an eternity later. No doubt their temporary neighbours next door would be awake now too. 

“You really need to change that,” Bucky said, the disappearance of Sam’s arm from around his waist highlighting its presence in the first place. 

“Why?”

“Because it’s worse than waking up in the middle of a warzone.”

“Are you awake though?”

“Yes, it’s impossible not to be.”

“Then it’s done it’s job,” Sam replied and Bucky could hear the grin on his face. “Now get your ass out of bed,” Sam continued, slapping Bucky on the arm, “it’s your turn to drive today and I need to get four cups of coffee into you first.” The mattress shifted as Sam swung his legs over the side and headed to the bathroom. Bucky rolled onto his back, stretching out across the warm bed. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“How bad was it?” Bucky asked as they leaned against the back of the car. Their timing had been poor - they had stopped at the diner for breakfast and hit it at rush hour. Not a seat nor stool to be had. Even the picnic benches outside were full. The waitress had packaged their pancakes and syrup to go, handing them plastic cutlery and not batted an eyelid when Sam asked for two extra coffees. 

The morning was bright, a warm breeze occasionally blowing dust around their feet. Sam stood in a t-shirt as he tucked into breakfast - the trunk of the car made a sufficient table - while Bucky wore the most lightweight long-sleeved shirt he owned. They had parked in the furthest spot from the door, out of sight of all bar the exceptionally nosey, so Bucky had removed his gloves and thrown them in the passenger seat. 

“Sam?” Bucky asked again, setting his throwaway cutlery into the throwaway container, pancakes half eaten. “How bad?”

“Dude, it’s fine, don’t worry about it,” Sam replied, not looking at Bucky. 

“Sam,” Bucky caught his wrist as Sam aimed another forkful towards his mouth, “Sam, tell me.”

“Buck,” Sam finally looked at him, “it wasn’t that bad. It’s just been a while, you know?”

Bucky wasn’t going to get any more information at this point, so he released Sam. They finished their meals in silence. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next few days were a repetition of driving, eateries of varying quality and accommodation that was mostly below average, keeping them below the radar. They shared the driving, and because Bucky’s nightmares returned with greater frequency, Bucky often woke with Sam at his side. On the final morning of their journey, he woke with Sam’s arm across his chest, fingers loosely wrapped around his arm, Sam snoring softly in his ear. He was grateful for Sam, his presence, even though he could be a pain in the ass at times. 

The end of their journey was very different to the start; desert and low level skylines were replaced with overpopulated towns and cities. High-rise buildings dominated the landscape, and between the cities and towns vast green fields stretched out either side of the wide highways. 

When they decided to stop for lunch, they were surprised to find the city streets quiet as they pulled into the car park. Few cars drove through the streets, almost no one occupied the sidewalks. It was like the place was abandoned. Immediately they went to high alert. 

“What the hell?” Sam said, getting out of the car cautiously. Bucky’s eyes were everywhere, but with the exception of the absence of human life, there was nothing out of the ordinary. They walked slowly to the cafe they had passed, on the lookout for anything else unusual, but the familiar indicators of a crisis or disaster weren’t there: there were no cars abandoned, no bins knocked over, no smashed shop windows, no debris. A ginger and white cat ran in front of them and startled Sam. 

Approaching the cafe, they could see through the large floor to ceiling windows that the city’s population hadn’t vanished. The seats and tables visible were full of people, real live people. Upon entering the premises it all became clear.

A large flat screen television hung from a corner of the room and it held everyone’s attention. Even the small children there with parents sat still and watched, toys forgotten in their hands. The news channel’s reporter, a middle-aged woman in a black pantsuit was speaking solemnly into the microphone she held as words scrolled along the bottom of the screen.  _ First Anniversary of Thanos Terror Attack _ .  _ Thousands gather in New York for memorial.  _ In the background rows and rows of chairs were laid out for the service, many already occupied by government officials, first responders and bereaved family members. A temporary stage had been set up, with a wooden lectern and microphone positioned for the speeches. The channel cut from the close up of the reporter as she spoke, to an overhead shot - live footage from a helicopter or drone - to show the vastness of the crowd that had gathered to pay their respects. A crowd that had gathered on or around the site that, just twelve months ago, had been devastated. 

“If you want to sit, there’s a table over in the corner,” a voice interrupted their thoughts, “not a great view but it’s free.” Sam glanced at the woman behind the counter, who was in the middle of making some complicated cup of coffee and nodded his thanks. He ushered Bucky, who was focused on the images on the screen, to the corner table. Neither man took their cap off, concerned someone might recognise them.

For the next two hours they drank coffee, ate sandwiches and watched as reporters interviewed survivors, eye witnesses, grieving widows and widowers. They watched as the Mayor of New York talked of the city’s resilience, its people’s ability to fight on and rebuild. They watched as various intelligence agencies, including SWORD, spoke of the need to understand and prepare for new threats, to be ready, willing and able to defend the country, to defend Earth again should we need to. 

They watched, with pain in their hearts, the dedication to Tony Stark and the sacrifice he had made. 

When the service was over, the Mayor unveiled a memorial statue - a simple, stone structure that bore the names of those who were lost on that day. It sat in the middle of the park that was now officially opened to the public, where the service was being held on the site of the battle. Images of the various areas - fountains, flower gardens, children’s play areas - were shown as the Mayor finished his speech with muted optimism for the future. 

Neither man commented, as they left a tip on the table and got up to leave, about the redness in each other’s eyes. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Overwhelmed. Coming from all sides. He didn’t know where to look. Left, right, behind, above, everywhere. Everywhere. Endless, endless, one after another. Relentless - one after another after another and there was only one way it could…

“Bucky!”

Sam was shouting his name, bringing him away from it all, from the terror. His heart raced, his breathing rapid. Initially he fought against the arms around him, but as realisation slowly kicked in he relinquished his battle. Bedsheets clung to the corner of his mattress. Light from street lamps snuck around the edges of curtains and he could make out the fear, the concern in Sam’s face. 

“Buck?”

“I’m…”

“Fuck, if you dare say you’re fine, I’ll kick your ass myself.”

So he didn’t. 

They sat in silence, Bucky allowing himself to be held until he had calmed, until the fear subsided and cooler night air made him shiver. 

“Sam,” he began as his friend moved off the bed. Sam retrieved the duvet from the floor, where Bucky had kicked it in his torment. Without a word he returned to the bed, covering them both. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Clouds hung overhead but the forecast rain held off. The sounds of children laughing and playing cut through the sadness and tension that inevitably laced the beautiful surroundings. Children who, for the most part, had been unaware of the true enormity of the danger they had escaped. Or maybe they had forgotten, pushed what they had heard and seen down. It would rise to the surface again though, it always did. 

They walked through the trees, creating their own path as they dodged children playing hide and seek around them. It was probably too cold to be running through the fountains, though one or two tried. Dogs barked in chase of each other and parents sat on benches, chatting. 

After almost an hour (and suitable checks to confirm they weren’t being watched) their route took them to the memorial statue. In the twenty four hours since its unveiling, hundreds of flowers and trinkets had been left next to it. Cards for lost loved ones, prayers for safe rest and peace. A small crowd of people was reading the messages, the names inscribed on the stone. One or two appeared to be praying. Enough that they felt they could blend in, for a moment. 

Most of the names, hundreds of them, were unfamiliar. It was the one at the bottom, separate from the rest, that stood out. As he did in life, Bucky thought. It was a simple commemoration for those who had paid the ultimate sacrifice - less than what they deserved, but how could you repay someone who had given their life? Just like war heroes who received a military funeral, a twenty one gun salute, whose relatives were gifted with a posthumously awarded medal. It all seemed hollow and pointless to them now. They paused only a few moments with their thoughts.

Turning to leave Sam bumped into a red-headed woman who had been standing a few feet behind them, waiting her turn. 

“Oh I’m sorry,” he began, before catching green eyes staring straight at him.

“No problem,” she replied, revealing a hint of an accent. Glancing between them, she gave both Sam and Bucky a brief nod before turning her attention to the memorial. 

It was too dangerous for more than that brief exchange so they continued on their way, leaving the memorial park behind. 

They walked the streets of a city transformed in the aftermath of battle. New buildings popped up to replace those that were destroyed, like shoots of new plants. Where it had been possible, many of the larger complexes and stadia were in the process of renovation. There had been much debate about what should happen, and in the end nostalgia allowed significant structures to be given a new lease of life. It would take time, years to rebuild and heal the wounds left behind. 

Finishing the hot dogs they had purchased from a street vendor, Sam threw his rubbish in the bin and stopped. 

“Can I ask you something Bucky?”

He wiped his mouth with the napkin before tossing it in the bin. “Sure,” Bucky replied.

“It’s a serious question.”

Bucky, who had begun walking again stopped and turned. 

“Ok.” He wasn’t sure he was ready for a meaningful conversation in the middle of the street. 

“When was the last time you went to the movies?”

“What?”

Sam pointed at the building they had stopped in front of. The digital board, cracked at one side, had the names of three movies in red, one starting time for each. They were old classics - Forrest Gump, Grease and Sleepless in Seattle - probably chosen to lift people’s spirits and get them out of the house and back to normality. 

“Well?”

“Oh, I don’t know - 1943?”

Shaking his head and smiling, Sam took Bucky by the arm and guided him through the door into the empty foyer. The teenager at the kiosk looked surprised to see them; he had been watching something on his phone, propped up against the computer screen.

“Can I help you?”

“Two tickets for Forrest Gump,” Sam replied, digging in his jacket pocket for cash. 

“That one doesn’t start for another forty minutes,” the boy replied, clearly and thankfully unaware of who they were. Sam had mocked him for it at the time, but Bucky’s haircut made him blend in a little easier. “You’re welcome to go in, the screen’s been cleaned.”

Sam thanked him and on their way in, stopped to buy a large bucket of popcorn and drinks. They chose seats next to the wall, near the back of the cinema screen, where they would be both out of sight of most people and able to keep an eye on the exit. 

“So what did you see, back in 1943?” Sam asked before filling his mouth with popcorn. 

Bucky paused, trying to remember. “I don’t recall, it was a long time ago. Probably something with Humphrey Bogart.”

“No shit,” Sam replied. They were the only people in the room, but out of habit kept their voices low. Sam offered the popcorn, which Bucky eyed somewhat suspiciously before taking a handful. “Please tell me you’ve had popcorn before,” Sam asked, wide-eyed. 

“Yes, of course I’ve had popcorn,” Bucky replied, “it just wasn’t as big a thing to do at the cinema back in the forties. I don’t think I ever had popcorn at a theatre.”

“Well damn, you were a cheap date,” Sam laughed. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was late, well after midnight when they finally made it back to their hotel. A small establishment away from what used to be the heart of the city, it had been able to rebuild quickly. “Mostly for the benefit of businessmen,” the night manager had told them when they checked in the night before. “The Mayor’s keen to get us back up and running again, so he’s holding meetings every hour of the day, or so they say, to get people, businesses back to New York. Put a lot of money into places like this to help with that.”

Their room had no airs and graces. It was minimalist yet suited all the requirements of the twenty first century financier who would probably spend very little time making use of the facilities. A landscape photograph of the old Manhattan skyline covered the distance between the twin beds.The bathroom, finished in white all round, reflected far too much when Bucky switched on the light. He could hear Sam rooting in the fridge, glass clinking as he rummaged through the mini bar, presenting Bucky with two small bottles when he returned from the bathroom. 

“Door number one or door number two?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. Bucky took them both, not looking at the labels before downing the first. Sam did the same. It had been a long, emotional day for them both. Sam pulled the dark mauve curtains as Bucky climbed into his bed, limbs heavy against the weight of the day. 

“Sam,” Bucky said, as Sam stripped to his waist, pulling the covers back to get into bed. 

“Yeah?”

Bucky opened his mouth to speak, but when the words didn’t sound right in his head, he didn’t feel he could voice them. 

“Never mind.”

Sam switched off the last light in the room before sitting on the edge of Bucky’s bed. He waited until Bucky had made room for him before climbing under the duvet. It was only minutes before the two men were asleep, face to face, Sam’s hand resting over Bucky’s. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day they took a drive out to the old compound. Both the building and the road out to it were destroyed, so Sam parked a mile away and they made their way on foot. They had little concern of being observed - there was nothing but rubble and they hadn’t passed another person or vehicle for miles. As they neared the site, they came to a hastily erected fence, with red and white No Entry signs attached. It only took them a few seconds to get over and continue onwards.

Bucky had never been inside the compound - he was too busy trying to kill Steve at the time - but Sam told him about it.

“Everything you could imagine, it was all there,” Sam enthusiastically reminisced on their walk. “The best technology on the planet, high tech training facilities that could even make you into a decent fighter,” he laughed as Bucky shoved him sideways, “weapons development - you name it, Tony thought of it. Natasha put her penny’s worth in too.”

It all lay in ruin. Where many other parts of the city had begun moving on, no one had bothered to deal with the mess that used to be the Avengers’ base. Beyond erecting an ineffective barrier to keep people out, nothing had changed in the past year. The beautiful white and glass structure that Sam remembered fondly was charred and broken. The green grass of the expansive lawns was replaced by churned up soil and dirt. He had learned so much during his time there, had many good memories. 

Bucky put a firm, comforting hand on Sam’s shoulder. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ignoring the ‘Staff Only’ and ‘Emergency Exit’ signs, they took a bottle of whiskey onto the roof of their hotel. The night sky above was clear, revealing a myriad of stars watching over them. It left a cool night in the city, but with it a spectacular view towards downtown Manhattan. The skyline was unrecognisable in comparison to the image on their hotel room wall, but it was still a glittering display of hope, determination. 

Bucky passed Sam a glass (swiped from the hotel bar) and they clinked them together.

“Cheers,” he said, Sam nodding in response. In the distance, a plane was coming in to land at the airport, lights flashing on its wings. Little noise rose from the streets below. It was hard to believe what had taken place here not that long ago.

“I was thinking Canada.”

“Pardon?” Sam refilled his empty glass.

Bucky swirled the amber liquid round before taking another sip. “It seems nice, people there are friendly. Certainly can’t stay here.”

“True,” Sam replied, mulling the idea over. “Canada could work. We could find somewhere near a lake, I’ll teach you how to fish.”

“Who says I don’t know how to fish?”

“Do you?”

Bucky swallowed the rest of his drink and lifted the bottle to refill. “You don’t have to come,” he continued, staring intently into his glass. Sam turned to face Bucky, setting his glass on the wall. “Why wouldn’t I?” 

Mirroring his actions, Bucky turned to face Sam. “Because you’ve got a job to do. You can’t hide from that shield forever. He gave you it for a reason, Sam, he trusted you with it.” 

“And it’s clear that no one else feels the same way, so forget it.” 

“Are you going to take the opinion of some government asshat who couldn’t fight his way out of a paper bag, or Steve Rogers?”

It was difficult to argue with a hundred year old man, so Sam downed his drink instead. He waited until he hoped Bucky would give up the argument before continuing. 

“So when are we leaving for Canada?” 

“Sam,” Bucky stepped closer to him, resting a hand on his arm, “I mean it. You don’t have to come. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate everything you’ve done, but you don’t need to be stuck with me for the rest of your life.”

Sam set his glass back on the wall, next to Bucky’s. “I’m a grown-assed man, Buck. I can do whatever the hell I want. That includes saving your ass when you get in trouble.”

Bucky smiled; “Name one time you…”

“Beijing.”

“No, that was…”

“Johannesburg.”

“Ok, I’ll give you that one, but still…” 

“Give it up, Buck. You’re stuck with me now. Unless you…”

“No, not at all.”

Sam stared at Bucky, stubborn and set in his opinion. Bucky stared at Sam, looking for a reason in his determination. It was Sam who moved first. 

He closed the gap between them, pressing his lips to Bucky’s for a brief instant. The warmth was a brief respite from the chill night air. 

Sam stared at Bucky, now hoping he wasn’t about to get punched (he would never admit it, but he knew Bucky could take him easily). Bucky stared at Sam, waiting for the punchline. 

It was Bucky who broke the silence, the confusion: “Sam, what…”

“I’m sorry, Buck. Look, I just…” he wasn’t quite sure how to finish the sentence. 

“What’s going on, Sam?”

“I honestly don’t know, it’s just that, you know…” Sam started, very aware of Bucky’s intense scrutiny. “It’s been a long year,” he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, “we’ve done a lot, been through a lot”, back to the other foot, “you know?” Sam would’ve been happy for Bucky to take that piercing blue stare anywhere else right then. “It’s like I said…”

“You haven’t actually said anything.”

Sam sighed, “oh for fuck’s sake.” He took a long drink from his glass, hoping to calm his nerves. 

“Is that what you want?”

“What?”

“ _ That. _ ”

He couldn’t look Bucky in the eye, favouring the concrete floor and his scuffed shoes instead. “I guess, it's just that…”

“Ok, let me help you decide.”

Bucky was in his space, again, hands on his waist and lips pressed firmly against his. It was an easy decision to make, pulling Bucky against him, letting him deepen the kiss.


	3. Chapter 3

Despite the late hour the city was as bright as day. Streetlights seemed an unnecessary accessory as light streamed from digital advertisements, shop signage and illuminated billboards. Bars and pubs had emptied their clientele onto the streets to roam in search of a taxi or their next beverage. Sounds of drunken merriment mixed with car horns mixed with heated arguments. Streets were damp with the day’s rain and they stepped to the side to avoid a taxi clearly not trying to avoid a large puddle. It was after 2am and there was still plenty of traffic; they had noted that, weeks ago - the city never really stopped. 

They had hoped for a quieter opportunity to make their move on the mark, but this was the best they were going to get. So under the cover of no darkness whatsoever, Sam and Bucky set their plan in motion. 

Sam made his way down the alley between two office blocks near the river. The cobblestone street felt like something out of a movie and suitably stereotypical of London. At the end, he took a right, following the path around the side of the building. An old red wooden door faced the water and he tried the handle. Finding it unlocked, as expected, Sam inched it open, listening for sounds inside. Dirty windows allowed some light through, enough for Sam to see the outline of the large room: boxes were stacked in various piles, a few tables and chairs scattered about. A smell of damp assaulted his senses. He could hear voices and made his way towards the source, slowly. 

At the far end of the room three men stood hunched over a table, a lamp illuminating pages that were spread out across it. It appeared they were the men Sam and Bucky were after: former Hydra agents who had created a cell to try and restart the enterprise. Two Germans and a Sokovian who were still under the spell of their long-departed dictator. From what they had seen and heard, one of the Germans (a black haired beast of a man) had been used as part of the Hydra testing programme; the other two were just brainwashed. 

Sam eased his way closer and once within reach caught one of the smaller men across the back of the head, knocking him out instantly. The element of surprise lasted only a second or two; the test subject - Bruno - grabbed something from the table and fled, leaving his companion to fend off an attack from Sam. His hand to hand combat skill wasn’t unexpected, but Sam was prepared. A motorcycle roared to life outside as Sam parried the Sokovian’s punches and jabs, eventually knocking him to the ground. Had he lain there, that would have been the end of it, but as Sam went to check in with Bucky, the man pulled a concealed knife and lunged at Sam. He only managed a scratch on Sam’s arm before he was tossed aside, a bullet ending the battle for good. Sam left the building quickly, taking flight out towards the river. 

Bucky waited on the bridge, the cold night air whipping around him. Couples passed, arm in arm, pausing for photos with the city’s landmarks as their backdrop. A group of young men, possibly on a stag do, stumbled across the bridge, laughing and swearing, making inappropriate comments to every woman they passed. At the sound of a speeding motorbike Bucky made his way from the pavement into the centre of the road, ignoring the blaring horn of several cars as they swerved to avoid him. 

As he approached the bridge, the German’s expression indicated that he knew what was happening. He looked around for an alternative route, but he was already on the bridge, fast approaching the ominous figure. He swerved to the side but Bucky moved quickly, a metal arm catching the rider and pulling him from his seat unceremoniously onto the ground. A quick shake of the head and he was back up, confirming their suspicion that Hydra had done some work on him. 

A few of the drunks had stopped to watch the goings on, a couple taking their mobiles out to video the unfolding scene. Bucky would have to make this quick - he didn’t want his location being made public knowledge, so they would need a rapid exit afterwards too. 

His opponent was skilled, that was for sure. Initially he was able to withstand and counter Bucky’s attack. They both ignored the cheers and shouts from the drunks as Bucky pushed Bruno against the side of the bridge, doing his best to wring the life out of him. The German’s blade aimed for Bucky’s side and his opponent, convinced he was about to gain the upper hand whispered a “Hail Hydra” in Bucky’s ear: the final straw, Bucky seized the knife and jammed it into Bruno’s stomach, pushing him back against the stonework with enough force to cause it crack, sending them both over and down towards the freezing Thames below. 

Bucky was vaguely aware of the gust of wind before his downwards fall rapidly stopped, turning into an incline as his arm was yanked upwards. Below he saw rather than heard the splash of the German hitting the water. Wrapping his fingers around Sam’s wrist, he struggled to enjoy the view as they passed over Tower Bridge, Sam taking them to a quieter spot to set down. 

“Maybe next time you could save the dramatic entrance and help out a bit instead?”

“Hey, I had twice as many to deal with as you,” Sam replied as they walked back to their accommodation. “And anyway, I didn’t want to steal your fun.”

“Oh yeah, so much fun,” Bucky replied. 

They quietly slipped in through the back entrance of the bed and breakfast to their room. It was nearly 4am and they would be leaving again in a couple of hours. 

“I don’t know what you’re complaining about,” Sam said as Bucky closed the door behind them. “You like a challenge, and it’s not often we find another supersoldier for you to play with. Ok, he wasn’t a cyborg but better than…”

Sam’s sentence was promptly cut off as he was pushed up against the wall, Bucky pinning him there, kissing him like it might be their last. What Sam had learned over the past few months was that Bucky kissed like he fought - skilled and relentless, like he’s on a mission. While his tongue explored - Sam happily obliged - Bucky kept him from moving with a firm hand to his chest, just enough force to remind Sam that, physically, he’s not a normal human being. There was just enough force to let Sam glimpse, as Bucky roughly pulled his shirt over his head, what it might be like if Bucky lost control. Just enough force to tease Sam’s curiosity into pushing that big red button. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The red brick building looked like anything but a train station. Impressive in size and stature, the small sign indicating its purpose could easily have gone unnoticed. They made their way into the vast glass-ceilinged hall, purchasing tickets from one of the many machines; the morning rush hour had just subsided so they were able to quickly get a coffee (large for both) and a selection of ‘traditional’ English pastries from the bakery before boarding their train. They were both dressed in dark clothes, avoiding eye contact with the other passengers but very aware of their surroundings. 

They made themselves comfortable, Sam putting his earphones in, Bucky resting a head on Sam’s shoulder. They would be in Paris in just over two hours, ready to disappear into the unknown once again. Bucky was asleep by the time the train pulled out of the station. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


A few days later their train arrived in Split and upon leaving the station they both took a deep breath of the fresh, clean sea air. They walked down to the water, through the Marjan Forest Park to stretch their legs after their nearly twenty-four hour journey from Slovenia. Sam had stayed awake for most of it, during daylight anyway; he suspected Bucky’s lack of interest (shown by his intermittent napping and reading) in the stunning landscape of mountains and rivers was because he had seen it before. On more than one occasion Sam reached across Bucky to take a photo with his phone; he was only swatted out of the way once - it must have been a tense moment in the novel. 

It had been Bucky’s idea to head east; apart from the smaller number of tourists, there was also a smaller intelligence presence there. With fewer cities and large towns they would be harder to find in the numerous hamlets and villages. After a couple of hours enjoying the view of the port and getting some food they caught a bus south. The semi-tropical paradise village they finished their journey in blew Sam’s mind. From their stop they were a stone’s throw from an exquisite sandy beach, trimmed with turquoise ocean, framed by a sun sitting low in the sky. For a moment it took his breath away. 

Bucky allowed him a minute or two to take it in, before hooking his arm around Sam’s and steering him across the road. They found a path between two cafes which led them up a set of stone steps. At the top, a narrow road wound its way up the side of the hill; houses and apartment blocks afforded outstanding views of the bay. They climbed for twenty minutes or so before coming to a white apartment block hidden amongst tall trees. Bucky punched in the five digit code and the security gate unlocked. 

Sam followed Bucky up the outdoor steps to the first floor. There were just five apartments top and bottom and they were all situated high enough to look out to the Adriatic. Hidden behind the apartments, out of view of any passersby was a large swimming pool; two women lay on loungers in bikinis and sarongs, sipping cocktails. Bucky lifted the key from underneath a plant pot - the lowest level security either man had seen in a long time. 

The open-plan apartment was cool, the stone floor designed to repel the summer heat. Sam passed the kitchenette, dropped his bag by the two seater sofa and made for the sliding doors. Opening out onto a small balcony, Sam ignored the table and chairs, instead leaning on the wall to admire the view. The sun dipped below the horizon sending a range of colours across the evening sky. A sea breeze made the hairs on his arms stand. 

After a quick check of the one bedroom apartment Bucky joined him, wrapping his arms around Sam’s waist, resting his chin on Sam’s shoulder. 

“Do I want to know how you found this place?”

“Probably not.”

They waited until the sun had completely disappeared and the earliest, brightest stars appeared before heading back inside. 

“Did you move my stuff?”

“Aren’t I always clearing up your messes?”

“Aw what a good little robot,” Sam replied, ruffling Bucky’s hair as he went past towards the bedroom. Bucky rolled his eyes, heading for the kitchen to unpack the small bag of groceries they had purchased in Split. 

Having unpacked his bag (a loose use of the term, as always) Sam returned to find Bucky on the sofa, gazing sleepily at the stars through the open door. 

“Want me to close that?”

“It’s fine.”

“Sure? Don’t want that sea air getting you rusty,” Sam nodded at Bucky’s arm, a cheeky grin on his face. 

Bucky pulled Sam down into his lap, into a kiss that was designed to stop any further smartass comments. It worked perfectly - Bucky’s hands sliding over Sam’s back, under his shirt, pulling them closer, Sam’s fingers in Bucky’s hair - until it didn’t.

“You know, I’d hate for you to…”

“Stop talking.”

Bucky ran his fingernails slowly down Sam’s back, a delicious tingle against his skin that he knew Sam liked. His knowledge was confirmed when Sam rocked against him, the friction between them fuelling the slow burn in Bucky. 

“I was only going to say that…”

“Don’t.”

Sam, never one to shy away from a challenge or an opportunity to tease kissed his way along Bucky’s jawline, down his neck, nipping lightly just before he reached the collarbone. 

“Oh come on…”

“I swear to God, if you don’t stop talking I’m going to leave you here.”

Sam smiled, “No you won’t.”

No, he wouldn’t. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam took a bottle of water from the fridge, pressing it to his forehead before taking a swig to cool down. He had had the pool to himself; the hot weather had taken most of the other residents down to the beachfront. A towel hung precariously from his hips as he made his way to the balcony. Eight days here and they had settled into a much slower pace of life; there were aspects of it Sam enjoyed, but occasionally he got itchy feet. Too much energy, not enough outlet.

Bucky had gone into the village to collect groceries and have a quick scout around. They had been pretty lucky so far, in so many respects but they didn’t let their guard down. They had several ideas of where to go next, the names and locations of more potential targets but neither was in any rush. There was something to be said for the quiet life.

Sam’s phone beeped and he collected it from the kitchen counter. 

_ Out _ .

Sam dropped his phone, rushing to the bedroom to quickly throw some clothes on. Unceremoniously shoving their belongings into bags, he didn’t waste time double checking he had collected everything. Jamming his feet into shoes Sam gathered his phone and, two bags thrown over his shoulder, left the apartment. 

He was on high alert as he made his way to their rendezvous point, checking every direction for anyone who might be following or watching him. On several occasions he diverted through side streets, waiting in an alley or two to throw any possible assailants off his course. As they had arranged, there would be no further contact between himself and Bucky until they met up in person. Not knowing the situation, not knowing what had happened - or what was happening - created an uncomfortable ache in his chest. 

For the past year and a half they had spent every day together. Fought side by side, joked and laughed and argued, slept side by side. They had planned and trained and prepared together. Whether he realised it or not, Sam expected it to be like that today, tomorrow and every other day for a long time. Whatever this situation or threat was, it could throw a spanner in the works and Sam didn’t want to think about that.

Half an hour after leaving the apartment Sam reached the meeting point, the hint of breathlessness as much out of concern as his hurried journey. The old, abandoned house at the edge of the village was empty. He checked the bushes nearby and found nothing, so decided to wait at the rear of the building, out of sight. 

Sam couldn’t help glancing at his watch every minute, checking his phone for signal and messages. The minutes added up to an hour, then two. Sam clenched and unclenched his fists. He was almost ready to break their agreement and go in search of Bucky when he heard a noise, footsteps on the uneven, stony ground. The person neared the house and as Sam heard the steps approach the back of the building he took a deep breath, ready for a fight if necessary. 

At the sight of Bucky he sighed a curse in relief, pulling him into a tight embrace. It was only when he released his partner that Sam noticed the cuts to his cheek and eyebrow, the blood on his chin and knuckles of his right hand. 

“What happened?”

“Just a couple of agents, probably from the Bureau - I didn’t stop to ask. Apparently they’re not appreciative of our London efforts - would you stop fussing!” Bucky swatted Sam’s hand away from his face, where he was inspecting Bucky’s wounds. “We need to get moving.”

“Plan A?”

“No, too close.”

“Plan B?”

Bucky nodded and they gathered their bags, making their way along an old farm track to a nearby farmhouse. Two young men were working in a field; the older of the two, possibly around fifteen, spotted them first and ran into the house. A moment later a short, older man appeared in the doorway. As they approached, Bucky greeted him in Croatian. Sam didn’t understand the detail of their conversation but it seemed familiar enough - another of Bucky’s mysterious contacts. 

“We’ve got a ride,” Bucky said, steering Sam towards a cart behind the house. The farmer and his son were hitching up a pony, throwing sacks into the back of the cart that Sam and Bucky could use to conceal themselves, if needed. 

“What, no Orient Express?” Sam said, climbing into the back, sitting next to Bucky and resting a hand on his thigh. 

“Not this time,” Bucky replied before thanking the farmer again as they set off. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another train station, another decision to be made. The list of departures written on a whiteboard gave them just two options for the day - simplified, they could go north or east. The room was stuffy, so Bucky waited out on the single platform while Sam handed over payment for two tickets. 

“So where are you taking me?” Bucky asked, squinting as the sun peeked through the clouds and shone in his eyes. Sam stood in front of him to block it. “It’s a surprise.”

“Oh good, I love surprises,” Bucky replied, sarcasm dripping heavily. 

They waited, alone, on the platform nearly three hours until their train arrived. The cashier or manager or whatever his title was didn’t seem to find this odd, and didn’t bother them. When their transport eventually arrived, they were spoilt for choice as very few passengers were on board. Choosing the rearmost carriage, they had it to themselves. 

“So are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

Sam grinned, wrapping an arm around Bucky’s shoulder and pulling him close; “No, but it’s a long ride, best make yourself comfortable.” Bucky relented, relaxing onto Sam’s shoulder; this time he didn’t complain when Sam gently ran his fingers across his forehead, over the small cuts that would be gone shortly. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you kidding?”

Sam stepped off the train onto the platform, smiling ear to ear. He turned to Bucky, holding out his hand; “Are you getting off or not?” Bucky left the train, shaking his head. 

A couple of groups of backpackers disembarked at the same time, looking around them for directions. One held a map, a massive khaki green rucksack on his back. Another, a girl with a much smaller purple rucksack was scrolling through her phone. Sam could see Bucky quickly checking them out; they seemed legit, so the two men moved on towards the exit. 

Twenty minutes later they arrived at the building, Bucky still cursing Sam under his breath. With a flourish Sam opened the door and the woman behind the counter almost did a double take.

“My boys, you came back,” she cried, rushing out to greet them.

“Marguerite,” Sam replied, hugging her back, “it’s good to see you, you’re looking well.”

“As are you, come here,” she embraced Bucky, who still hadn’t decided whether he wanted to kiss or kill Sam. Maybe a little of both. 

“I know we should have called ahead,” Sam began, turning on the charm, “but we’re hoping you might have a room for us.” 

“Oh of course!” Marguerite exclaimed, heading back behind the counter to find a key. “Now let me see,” she flicked through her twentieth century booking system (a good old fashioned book that was heavy enough to be weaponised in a pinch), “I have a couple of rooms.” She looked up at them, between them, before asking with a raised eyebrow, “Twin or double?”

Bucky couldn’t get a response out before Sam: “Do you really need to ask, Marguerite?” he said with a wink. Bucky leaned in as she fetched their key; “I hate you.”

"It’s not Canada but I'm sure it'll do for a while," Sam said as he opened the door. Their room was on the opposite side of the corridor to their last, but still situated at a corner with an impressive view of the countryside. Bucky shook his head in half-hearted desperation when Sam looked between him and the double bed in the middle of the room, waggling his eyebrows in the least subtle, most ridiculously suggestive manner he could. 

"You're insufferable, you know that? 

"You love it."

"Uh huh."

"I guess as much as the Tin Man can, but…"

Bucky pushed Sam, hard, onto his back, onto the bed. He was on top of Sam, straddling him, pinning his hands above his head before Sam had caught his breath. With their faces close, Sam felt warm breath on his cheeks but it was the unmoving gaze that distracted him. Sam knew that expression well, that determination not to lose control; slow, measured breathing while Bucky's brain talked himself down. If only Sam's had the sense to do the same. 

He shifted underneath Bucky’s weight, his hips rising once, twice, making it clear he wasn't trying to break free, but rather encourage, entice - that big red button was far too tempting. His efforts were rewarded when he caught Bucky briefly biting his lip. Sam shifted again, making damn sure he made contact with Bucky’s crotch this time and got the result he was looking for. 

Bucky’s lips crashed onto Sam’s, his tongue probing as Bucky manoeuvred both Sam’s wrists under one hand, still held on the pillow above his head. Metal edges dug into the soft skin beneath but Sam couldn’t have cared less. Sam’s chest rose and fell more rapidly as Bucky shoved his shirt upwards, exposing smooth and scarred flesh that Bucky’s fingers skated over; Sam swore as Bucky ran his thumb lightly across Sam’s nipple before nipping not-too-gently with his teeth. 

“Oh fuck” Sam cursed again when Bucky repeated the action, nipping harder than before. Sam’s hips thrust upwards, seeking any sort of contact. Bucky, at a painstakingly slow pace, rubbed the palm of his hand down the front of Sam’s jeans, finishing with a firm squeeze before returning to kiss Sam - had he been of even vaguely sound mind, Sam would have suspected that it was to stifle the moans he couldn’t help emitting. 

For the most part it was a successful tactic, until Bucky rocked hips slowly and firmly against Sam’s, groin to groin causing Sam to break their kiss; “Fucking hell, Buck,” he swore, more breathless than he would ever admit to. Bucky didn’t give him a chance to recover, undoing Sam’s belt and zip. Sam tried to help with Bucky’s single-handed attempt to remove his clothes, wriggling free eventually, but every time Bucky’s hand brushed against his cock it sent another wave of pleasure through his body. Sam threw his head back as Buck wrapped his fingers around him, stroking without any of the hesitance or caution that sometimes held him back. 

“Buck,” Sam tried to get his attention, Bucky’s lips on his neck, his collarbone. “Bucky,” he tried again, trying not to thrust into the hand surrounding him, driving him rapidly insane. 

“James!”

Bucky froze and it was only then Sam noticed his rapid breathing, imagined Bucky’s pulse might just be racing as much as his. Bucky rested his head on Sam’s chest, avoiding eye contact with him. The pressure on Sam’s wrists eased after a moment as Bucky made to get up but Sam stopped him with a short instruction of “don’t”. 

“What?”

Sam took a deep breath, his heart still racing. “James Buchanan Barnes, you better fucking finish what you started.” Bucky met his gaze. “And do it properly.”

Bucky only waited a beat, confirmation - permission - clear in Sam’s eyes, before he kissed him again, hard. He managed to push his own jeans and underwear down with one hand, his other retightened its grip on Sam’s wrists. Sam didn’t need to see Bucky to know he was turned on by the situation; Bucky’s cock pressed against his as Bucky straddled him again and that was more than enough evidence. 

“Seriously,” Sam began, barely stopping short of whining, “please.” 

Bucky made to move off the bed again to get the tube from his bag and Sam shouted at him again. “I mean it, if you don’t just…”

Bucky, held in place by Sam’s words and his gaze, reached behind himself, slowly sliding a finger, then a second into Sam. The tightness was a delicious promise of what lay ahead. It was an awkward angle, keeping Sam pinned in place, but that didn’t seem to matter. The volume of Sam’s curses increased; for a moment Bucky hesitated, not sure if he was going beyond what Sam was asking, allowing him to do. He reminded himself Sam would stop him if and when he needed to. 

Sam watched, subconsciously licking his lips as Bucky ran his hand over his own cock, precum sliding along his length. He ached with unreleased pressure, about to complain when Bucky released his arms again; it was caught in his throat when Bucky’s hand moved to his chest, a firm grip digging into his skin, holding him in place and preventing any further movement. Bucky shifted his weight to allow him access to Sam, holding his breath as he eased himself inside. He gave Sam no time to adjust before he pulled out again slightly, pushing back again quickly. It was rough and explosive and everything and nothing like Sam had imagined. Bucky relentlessly moved back and forth, and as his movements became erratic, Sam finally lost himself. Moments later Bucky shuddered, collapsing on top of Sam. 

Sam waited patiently, despite the smothering heat on top of him, for Bucky to move. When he eventually did, Sam stripped his wrinkled and stained shirt off, throwing it onto the floor in the general direction of where he thought the rest of his clothes had ended up. 

“What?” he asked when Bucky glared at him, “You started it.” 


End file.
